Partners
by Bradykins98
Summary: Max and Fang are two LAPD police officers on the streets of South Central, LA. When Max's partner is killed in a gunfight, Fang replaces him. What will happen when these two are put together? T for violence and occasional language. FAX


Partners

A Maximum Ride Fanfic

Chapter 1: Today Everything Changes

(M-POV)

It's a quiet day today. That's good; and bad at the same time. Good as no crimes are going on, but bad as it means that we are both bored as hell.

"You bored as I am Max?" My partner, Jacob, asks me.

"How bored are you O?" O is short for Omega, his nickname, due to him being the exact opposite of me. Yet we're still good friends. We have to, seeing as we sit in a stuffy patrol car most of the time.

"As bored as I was with your mom last night." I hit him lightly on the shoulder for that. He's full of sexually immature comments like that, proving my theory that inside is a twelve-year-old pushing the buttons. We're stuck in traffic at the moment, so to pass the time I pull out my Ipod. I put on some random, simple game to pass the time.

"Watcha' doing?" Omega asks. I shrug an answer.

"Playing Doodle Jump."

"Isn't that, like, for kids?" He asks, looking bemused. I give him a mock glare. He pretends to look hurt.

"Coming from you, that sounds almost funny." I say, as the cruiser's radio crackles to life.

"We got a report of an armed robbery in progress, address 141 West Adams Boulevard. Reports are at least three men, all with handguns, and one assault weapon." Crap. Just what we need, a shootout followed by a mountain of paperwork. I turn on the sirens and hit the accelerator whilst Omega responds to the call out.

"This is Whiskey Two Niner, we are en route to the robbery, requesting on site back-up, how copy over?" He says quickly and calmly, as I speed past cars by the dozen. Welcome to South Central, Los Angeles in rush hour. I hear the roar of the engine over the whining sirens. This is what I joined the LAPD for, to drive fast, red and blue lights flashing, sirens blaring; on the way to stopping bad people doing bad things.

They're probably members of one of the Mexican cartels that operate round here. I turn a corner onto St Hill Street. This'll lead direct to the bank where the robbery is taking place.

I pull up outside the bank and am instantly greeted with gunfire from inside.

"Shots fired, requesting immediate backup." Omega barks down the radio whilst climbing out the car, pulling out his Glock 22 sidearm out of his holster as he does so. I grab the Remington 870 shotgun from the cruiser as I step out, and I run round the car to get some cover. Omega is already behind it.

"What's the plan?" He asks me. I hear more gunshots bounce off the cruiser, and fizz above our heads.

"Sounds like an AK, as well as some 9mm handguns." I say. There are apparently three of them, and two of us. We have body armour, but it's not much use against an AK-47 assault rifle. "We're going to have to engage, otherwise they'll get away. Cover me as I move behind that car, then I'll cover you." I say to him. He nods in agreement. "On three." I say. I hold one finger up, then two, then one. I burst out from behind the cruiser, and run to a civilian car closer to the bank.

I hear Omega fire his Glock from behind me, and I slide behind the car, racking the slide on my shotgun as I do so. I raise it above the bonnet of the car, resting my forearms on it to provide support.

I see the robbers, wearing balaclava's, standing in the foyer. As I guessed, they have one AK-47 and three 9mm handguns. I squeeze the trigger gently, and feel the heavy recoil buck into my shoulder.

Shotguns don't normally fire a straight bullet; they fire lots of ball bearings in a canister, to provide a greater spread at close range. I catch one of the robbers in the chest, shredding his torso. He collapses to the floor in a flow of blood. I rack the slide and fire again, missing this time as the robbers have dived for cover. By this time Omega is by my side.

"You good?" He asks, as I duck behind cover. He reloads his Glock, as the two remaining gunmen open fire again.

"Yeah, I got one of them." I have to shout above the gunfire. The air stinks of firing powder now. Distantly, I can hear sirens; our backup. I sigh in relief.

"Okay Max, we need to move, they'll make a run for it otherwise. Same as last time, I'll go first." He says. I nod in agreement and get in place to give covering fire. "Go!" He shouts and I open fire. I can see him running out of the corner of my eye. The robbers open fire again, as their comrade lies in a quickly increasing pool of his own blood.

I hear the relentless rumbling chatter of the AK, muffling the handguns. Omega is still running, still going, but suddenly he stops. The sirens are getting louder and louder, backup must be close by.

I can see Omega fall, limp for some unknown reason. I squeeze the trigger and hear an empty click. I get down behind the car, and check over to see what has happened to Omega. That's when I see the blood.

"JACOB!" I scream, and then grab my radio, "Officer down! OFFICER DOWN!" No, no, no. This can't be happening. Not to him. Not to my partner. Then I get angry. How dare they shoot him, a police officer? They'll be locked up for life when they reach court. If they reach court. The shooting stops, they must need to reload.

I run out of cover, not to Omega, but to the robbers. I leave the 870 where I was, and pull out my Glock 17. I run at full pelt towards them, only slowing down when I'm nearly on top of them. They both have their backs turned. One spins round, the guy with the AK.

I can see the look of surprise on his face as he raises his rifle. I can see his eyes go cold as I squeeze the trigger and blow his brains out. His brains splatter onto his friend's face, and as he turns around I shoot him in the shoulder. He screams in pain and drops his gun, a 9mm Beretta. I kick it away and roughly grab him and slam him against the wall.

I slap a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, and rip off his balaclava. Sure enough, he's Mexican, and begins muttering in Spanish. I repeat the Miranda Rights to him and drag him outside. There's another cruiser at the scene, as well as an ambulance that's treating Omega. I hand the robber over to a guy from the other cruiser, a guy with blonde spiky hair and electric blue eyes.

Holstering my Glock, I run over to the paramedics that are tending to Omega. "How is he?" I ask one of them.

"Bad, the bullet hit a rib and bounced around his chest before coming out." He replies, still tending to him.

"Just make sure he's okay." I say. I'm feeling numb inside, and the sky seems a little darker.

"I'm trying, now stop bothering me." He say's, obviously stressed. I walk away to the other officers.

We set up yellow tape, do all the things to keep the public away. The ambulance is getting ready to move now. I climb in, along with a cop from the other cruiser. It's not the blonde guy, it's his partner. Black, messy hair and eyes nearly as dark. Omega's passed out from blood loss by now.

Do you know what liquid nitrogen does to something? How it freezes it solid, and if you hit it with a hammer it smashes? I'm feeling like that now. Like he's already dead and gone. I keep on mentally telling myself that it won't come to that. That I won't be hearing a three-volley salute at his funeral. That I won't knock on his fiancé's door to tell her that he won't be coming home.

I feel a warm hand grab mine. It's the black-haired cop. When I look at him he gives me a weak smile, like he's been through what I'm going through. I hold his hand for the entire journey.

When we reach the hospital, Omega is immediately taken into theatre. The black-haired cop says he'll get some coffee, as the doctors are going to be a while. So I'm left sitting here, on my own, as my best friend's life is in the balance. I can't even cry. I just feel numb. The adrenalin in my system has worn off, and now I'm just left feeling drained.

"You okay?" I hear a voice to my left. It's the black-haired cop, with two steaming cups of coffee.

"Yeah, I'm okay" I lie. He sees through it instantly, and sits down next to me, handing over a cup. I take a sip of the bitter liquid, the taste summing up my mood.

"When I was in SWAT, a friend of mine got blown up in a drugs raid. He'd dived on a grenade, and saved my life. He survived it, although he's paralyzed today." He says, pouring some sugar into his coffee and stirring it.

"What's your point?" I snap. He takes no notice of my tone.

"My point is, that, even though it seems pretty bad, your friend will probably survive, just not be the same guy he used to be." He says calmly. "I know inside you feel like shit, but in the end he'll probably be okay, and so will you."

"What's your name?" I ask. I might as well know the name of this wannabe Socrates cop.

"Nick, but people call me Fang." He replies. I read his name badge; it says his last name is Walker.  
"Well, thanks for the coffee, Fang." I say, taking a long swig of my coffee. He shrugs it off, silently saying it was nothing. We sit there for three hours, when a doctor finally comes out. I look at him eagerly, hoping for good news.

A simple shake of his head brings my world crashing down. Time seems to slow down, and I slump into my chair. Now I start to cry, now I know it's really happening. I feel strong arms wrap around me, and I sob on their owners chest. I feel the familiar material of police uniform, and know it's Fang.

So here I am, crying in the arms of a stranger over my best friend. In one day, my whole life has changed. I loved him, not like romantic, but like a brother, and he felt the same. Now I'm alone, my family dead, with no one but the stranger whose arms I'm in who gives a damn about me. My life sucks big time.

* * *

**A/N: Well, here's the start of yet another story from me. To all those who want me to update my other stories, I am sorry! I've had loads of schoolwork and writers block and it's been frustrating to get ideas to lead to the others I've got in mind, meanwhile, I come up with ideas like this. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and that you stay along for the ride (ha ha, Ride, get it? No?).**

**Bradykins Out**

**PS: If holstering isn't a word, it is now. And see if you can guess the film reference in this A/N, put your answer in a review. The first person to get it right will be named in the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride, and James Patterson is probably the kindest, bravest, warmest, most selfless human being I've ever known**


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